


The Invasion

by ValBirch



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: El faces her demons, It's going to be wild I promise, Jonathan and Nancy storyline redemption, Mike worries constantly, Multi, Steve is still a babysitter, Things get really intense in Hawkins, fluff and angst and everything in between, long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-28 18:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12612768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValBirch/pseuds/ValBirch
Summary: Hawkins, 1985. On the day of her first birthday in Hawkins, El starts having nosebleeds, even when she's not using her powers. That night, Will's nightmares return, but they're different this time. Everything is different this time.





	1. The Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Thanks for clicking! I hope you'll enjoy reading this story as much as I think I'll enjoy writing it. If you make it to the end, please let me know what you think. Comments and feedback are always welcome. 
> 
> Cheers,  
> Val

_April 12, 1985  
Hawkins, Indiana _

Half-finished bowls of melted ice cream and empty pizza boxes were strewn about the floor of the cabin. Paper streamers hung from the walls and metallic pink and silver balloons floated against the ceiling, still and shining in the dim light, casting long shadows on the curtains, shut tight to the outside world. 

On the sofa, there lay a pile of presents, torn eagerly from bright-coloured wrapping paper. Books, mostly, with a few art supplies and a colourful array of lipglosses and eyeshadows. Atop this assortment sat a neat stack of birthday cards, each scrawled with the utmost care, letters of love and friendship hidden between their flaps. 

Music drifted quietly from the record player in the corner of the living room, though it was periodically drowned out by excited voices emanating from behind the closed door of El’s bedroom.

“I’ll do your math homework for a week if you give me Park Place!” 

“No way! And I can do my own math homework, thanks.” 

“Do I have to sell you my soul?” 

“Just shut up and pay up.” 

In the warmth of El’s bedroom, the lights were brighter. A rosy pink hue glowed from the lava lamps on her dresser and washed over the Monopoly board spread out between six young teenagers, bickering as they hunched over, each analyzing possible means of besting the others. 

“This is bullshit,” Dustin muttered, “Total bullshit.” He gestured toward the rapidly disappearing pile of money by his side. 

“I told you,” Max grinned impishly, patting him on the shoulder with mock concern, “You should have waited to buy those hotels. Now pay up.” 

Dustin mumbled something incoherent under his breath, thumbing through the few bills he had left. 

“Well, I’m bankrupt,” he announced abruptly, carelessly tossing the money in Max’s direction before turning to El. “You did this, you know? How are you so damn good at this game?” 

“Luck,” El grinned at him from her place beside Mike, not missing a beat. “Jim and me—no, Jim and I. We played. Before I was allowed to see you.” 

A heavy silence fell between the players gathered around the gameboard, momentarily weighing down on their shoulders. No one really liked talking about that year in between, especially Mike. He still hurt, thinking of how he had missed an entire year of time with El. Thinking of how close she had been that whole time—if only he had looked harder. 

“If I had powers,” Max broke the silence, as she usually did, “I’d totally use them to roll the dice the way I wanted.” 

“That’s because you’re evil,” Lucas chimed in, nudging the red-haired girl in the ribs. 

Max snorted and shoved him away by the shoulder. “Like you wouldn’t do the same, Sinclair.” 

“Can we focus on what’s important?” Dustin cut back in, frowning. “That this game is the worst.” 

“You’re just mad because Max is beating you at another game,” Mike chuckled. 

“Yeah,” Lucas laughed, “How many is that now? Four? Five?” 

“And besides,” Mike continued, “It’s El’s birthday and this is what she wanted to play.” 

“Yeah,” Will echoed with a smile, “It’s not El’s fault you suck.” 

Everyone’s eyes fell on El, who shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Not my fault.” 

Laughter filled the room, loud and boisterous, fuelled by too much sugar and the energy of friends reuniting after a too-long absence. 

\---

Hopper, who could hear their voices echoing throughout the cabin, bouncing off the wooden walls and into the tiny kitchen where he bustled around collecting trash, had taken Doc Owens’s advice seriously. The man had been vague when pressed for details as to why El needed to live as discreetly as possible for another year, but Hopper had grown to trust him. That birth certificate couldn’t have been easy to obtain and, if Doc Owens wasn’t to be trusted, it was likely that someone—or several someones—would have already shown up to cart El away from him. Over his dead body. 

A few feet from him, Joyce leaned against the counter with a half-smoked cigarette pressed between her lips. Listening to the cursing—and subsequent giggling and hushing—coming from behind the bedroom door made her smile, a fond recollection of the few times she and Hop had played any sort of game in their younger years; usually poker, sometimes euchre. Hop had always had a mean competitive streak. Joyce turned to watch him gathering paper plates from the ground, and he met her gaze. She knew his mind had travelled down the long lane of the past to the same memory. Or, almost the same.

“Remember how competitive you used to get?” Hop smirked at her. Joyce pulled the cigarette from her lips and waved in his direction, shaking her head. 

“I remember it a bit differently,” she corrected him. Hopper wiggled his eyebrows at her, a gruff laugh escaping his lips as he pushed himself back upright, shouldering the large garbage bag and hauling it back to where Joyce stood. Some semblance of tidiness returned to the main area of the cabin, he took to leaning up against the counter next to her and held out his hand. “Do you mind?” 

“Thought you were trying to quit.” Joyce tilted her head to the side but didn’t hesitate to pass her cigarette into Hop’s waiting fingers. 

“Trying,” he muttered, “For the kid.” Slowly, he took a deep drag of the cigarette, puffing the smoke from between his lips at intervals. “Besides, these things don’t really count.” 

Joyce rolled her eyes as he passed back her cigarette. “This was a good idea,” she said suddenly, her voice unexpectedly weary. “These kids, they need normal.” 

Jim nodded his agreement, walking over the kitchen table and pulling out his chair. “I think El might have rebelled if I didn’t let her see them once in awhile.” 

Butting out her cigarette in the ashtray by the sink, Joyce followed him, settling into the chair opposite his. “Is Mike still sneaking over?” 

“What do you think?” 

“And they still think they’re getting away with it?” Joyce let out a small burst of laughter. “Makes me wonder how much my mom knew about the stuff we did.” 

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” Jim mused, “She was sharp as a tack.” 

“Well,” Joyce frowned slightly, “Mike is a good boy.” 

“Better than I was,” Jim made a vague noise in his throat, his eyes now settled on the fridge where a photo was pinned under a round, red magnet. Mike and El at the Snow Ball. His arm was draped loosely around her waist and her body was turned in ever so slightly, shyly, towards his. Both of them wore smiles bigger than any Jim could remember seeing. They looked happy, carefree. Every time he looked at that photo, guilt started to eat at his stomach, winding its way up his throat. But El insisted they keep it there, pinned right next to the photo of the two of them, taken just before the Snow Ball, her hair all fancy and he, still in his police uniform, beaming. 

“Hop? You in there?” 

Jim came out of his recollections abruptly, Joyce waving a hand near his face, an expression of concern written on her features. 

“The paper plates were a good idea, huh?” Jim grinned at her. Joyce looked at him expectantly for a long moment, but he didn’t continue. He was saved the trouble of explaining his lapse in attention by a low knock sounding from the front door in the secret pattern indicating it was a friend.

Hopper rose and crossed the room, just in time to see the bedroom door open, El poking her head through the crack with wide eyes. He heard her ask for five more minutes before the question had actually left her lips and laughed. 

“You have to ask Steve,” he said over his shoulder, unlocking and opening the door to see the teen waiting on the porch with a tiny wrapped box in his hands. 

“Did I hear someone say five more minutes?” Steve smirked, stepping inside. El’s face lit up with delight and she hurried over to greet Steve, hugging him around the chest and staring up expectantly at him. 

“Is that for me?” 

“Sure is,” Steve laughed, placing the small box in her hands. “Happy Birthday, kiddo.”

“Thanks,” El beamed, lowering her voice to add in a whisper, “Dipshit.” As she opened the present—a pair of pink stud earrings, her friends filed out of the bedroom, still bickering. 

“It’s about time,” Dustin groaned upon seeing Steve. “I was getting my ass handed to me.” 

“He went bankrupt like a hundred times,” Max informed him, her tone smug. 

Steve shot Dustin a sympathetic look that shifted into a teasing grin. “Just one more thing I have to teach you, huh?”

\---

On the car ride back home, Will stared out the window, watching the tops of the trees with vigilance. In each place the clouds gathered together, darker patches against an already inky blue, Will was frightened he would see the Shadow Monster. Each time he looked up, he expected to see the looming darkness, the spindly and foreboding legs of the creature reaching out to him. There was never anything there, but Will wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to stop checking. It had been months since his last episode. No trips to the Upside Down since just after Halloween. No more True Sight. And while he was glad for it, Will couldn’t shake the feeling that if something were to come back, he’d have no warning this time around.

Dustin, Lucas, and Max had all gotten their ride home from Steve, but Mike had managed to squeeze out five extra minutes with El when Joyce had agreed to drive him home. As they wound down Cherry Street, towards Maple, Mike glanced over at Will in the seat beside him. He had his forehead pressed against the glass of the window, each passing streetlight illuminating his pale face in an eerie yellow glow before it was plunged back into darkness. He looked troubled and Mike had a feeling he knew why. Will was sinking into memories. 

“I think El would have won if we didn’t have to stop the game,” Mike mused aloud, trying to bring his friend back to the present moment. 

Will turned his head, tilted it to the side as though processing what Mike had said. Then his face cracked into a wide, amused smile. “Yeah. She’s so good at board games it’s freaky.” 

The boys shared a laugh before Mike’s face grew concerned again, his eyebrows drawing together. He shot a quick look up to Joyce in the driver’s seat and lowered his voice, leaning in closer to Will. 

“Everything okay?”

Will hesitated for a moment, biting his lip before he smiled, nodding vigorously. “I’m good,” he whispered in response. 

Mike smiled halfheartedly and settled back into his seat. He wasn’t entirely convinced with Will’s answer but he didn’t want to push the issue. 

\---

Warm in a brand new pair of flannel pyjamas, El propped herself up on her pillows and smiled at her adoptive father, leaning in the doorframe with a smile on his face. 

“Thank you for my party, Jim,” she whispered, her face still flushed with happiness. 

“Glad you had fun, El. Happy birthday.”

He reached to turn out the light, his hand hovering over the switch when El spoke again. “Goodnight, Dad.” 

Jim felt his heart plummet into his stomach and rocket into this throat all at once. It had been years since anyone had called him that and it was almost shocking to hear the word again, in such close quarters. He had never asked El to call him Dad, not that he hadn’t thought about it. But he knew she needed to come around to it on her own. He blinked, eyes suddenly heavy, and a smile crossed his face. 

“Night, kiddo.” 

Still smiling, feeling almost weightless, Jim turned out the light and retreated to his own bedroom, stiff and tired from a day of entertaining six rowdy teens in a space that was far too small for all of them. 

From her bed, El listened as Jim—her Dad; she liked the way the word suited him so well—got into bed. She waited for long minutes, trying not to feel too guilty as she kept her ears peeled for his heavy snores. Once they rolled through the thin bedroom walls, El climbed as quietly as she could manage from her bed, ducking low and pulling out a single file folder from beneath her mattress. 

Careful to avoid the creaking floorboard as she crept back into bed, El leaned over to fish a flashlight from her nightstand and slid under her covers. She glanced at the cover of the file, at the label printed there in harsh, bold lettering. **Hawkins Lab 1965.**

El drew in a deep, steadying breath. This had been her nightly routine for some time now. Each day while Jim was at work, she’d sneak into the hidden crawlspace beneath the living room and pull out one of the several files on Hawkins Lab. Once the lights had gone out for the night, she would work through the documents page by page, filling in her personal history and looking for any clues as to whether there were others like her. Others like Kali—she remembered her sister with a small shudder. 

This was difficult work and it often ended in tears before she could reach the close of any given folder—Subjects 001 through 004 (Patricia, Charles, Betty, and Frank) had all died when they were young, before they ever had a chance to see a world outside the walls of the bad place. 

With trembling hands, El began to carefully look that night’s file, pausing when she came across a photograph of a young girl with thin lips, a pointed nose, and short dark hair that hung in a sleek sheet to her shoulders. El licked her lips, mouth suddenly dry, touching the words under the photo. _Annie Harlow. Subject 005. Telepathy._

El’s brow furrowed, her index finger tapping on that final word. It was one she didn’t recognize, though it seemed suspiciously close to the word Lucas had used to describe her own gift—telekinesis. Once again, grimacing at the groan of her mattress, El snuck from her bed, flashlight in hand as she ghosted across the floor to her dresser, where her dictionary rested. 

Holding the bulb close to the page, balancing the dictionary carefully in her arm, El thumbed through the pages with practice, finding the word she was looking for in a matter of seconds. _Telepathy. The supposed communication of thoughts or ideas by means other than the known senses._

Senses? She knew those. Taste. Touch. Smell. Sound. Sight. 

Her mind worked quickly. Telepathy. Communication. Without sound. That meant no words. Was this the what she could now do with Will, unbeknownst to anyone other than the two of them? Was this what 005—Annie—could do? Was she even still alive? 

As she stood thinking, El felt a dull throb in the back of her mind, as if someone or something were poking at her brain from inside her skull. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but she had no time to consider it as she felt a familiar warm drip over her lip and stiffened, her fingers flying to her face. When she pulled them away, El could see the thick stickiness of the blood smeared there. 

Panic rose in her throat, a cool sweat forming on the back of her neck. “Jim!” When she called out, her voice was small and scared. “Dad!” That was louder, more terrified. 

He was there in a moment, bursting through the door, standing by her side, eyes wild and breathing heavy, not even bothering to question why she was out of bed. 

“What’s wrong?” 

In response, El held up her bloody fingers, her words quivering when she spoke. “I didn’t use my powers.” 

She didn’t understand the look of relief that spread across Jim’s face before he pulled her into a tight hug and tears welled from her eyes. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, patting her back, “It’s normal. Everyone gets nosebleeds. Even people who can’t move the world with their minds.” Gently, he tapped the side of her head and El swallowed the fear in her throat. 

_Normal._ That was something she’d never thought she’d be. 

\---

“Goodnight honey,” Joyce smiled at Will from the door, hovering nervously just outside his bedroom. “You sure you don’t want the nightlight on in the hall?” 

“Yeah,” Will nodded, sinking further into his mattress, pulling the covers up to his chin just the way he liked. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay,” Joyce nodded, lingering a moment longer. “I love you.” 

“Love you too, Mom.” 

Sleep came almost instantly, as Will listened to his mother’s footsteps retreat down the hallway. He’d been easily tired since the events in the fall and he had trouble focusing for long periods of time in school, but he was sleeping through the night again, so that was an improvement. 

Will dozed off, thinking of Monopoly and Mike’s face on the car ride home.

Before he knew it, Will felt as though he were awake. Could it be morning already? No. Impossible. It was too dark in his room. Only he wasn’t so sure it his room—or any room for that matter. There were no walls that he could see, and the darkness seemed to go on forever. His bare feet were cold and wet. Will glanced down and saw a thin layer of water beneath his feet, splashing with each timid step he took. 

It felt so real. Too real to be a dream and he began to panic, walking faster through the darkness. This couldn’t be happening again. It couldn’t—

Will heard rustling behind him and turned, quickly, his breathing shallow and rapid. 

_Not you._

A voice rang out in his head, seeming to come from everywhere all at once. It was small, but strong and angry. 

_Get out._

Will woke with a start, back in the familiar darkness of his room, his heart pounding in his chest. As tears welled in his eyes, he wished he had agreed to that nightlight.


	2. Sticks and Stones

El could hear birds singing softly, flitting about on the branches outside the front window as she sat cross-legged on the couch, distractedly reading one of the books Joyce had included in her birthday gift yesterday. Unable to focus on the words swimming in front of her eyes, El stood and stretched, padding over to the window, the panelled floor cool underneath her bare feet. Even though she knew she still wasn’t technically supposed to, El pulled back the thick, patterned curtains, allowing the sun to filter through the glass and warm her face for a few moments. Jim had gone to work earlier that morning, after the two of them shared the last of a sugary box of cereal and she had stolen a sip of his coffee.

Sighing contentedly, El closed the curtains once more and moved back towards the interior of the cabin, bypassing the sofa and her propped open book, returning instead to her bedroom. She knelt, sprawling her fingers out under the bed and feeling around for the file she had left unfinished last night. Once it was safely in her grasp, El sat up, leaning her back against the mattress, tucking her knees up near-level with her chest.

Somehow, luckily, the file had managed to remain hidden amongst her blankets the previous night while Jim had helped wipe up her nose and retrieved her a warm glass of milk to help settle her to sleep. It had done the trick, and El had dozed off before she could learn more about another potential sister. Because of this, El was almost glad Jim had been called into work unexpectedly, despite the fact that Saturdays were usually their day to play board games or work through puzzles on the living room floor. El knew, as she watched her adoptive father toss on his hat and grumble out the front door, that she’d would have been unable to focus on anything else until she knew more about Annie Harlow.

As El flipped open the file on her lap, the ache at the base of her skull from the previous night returned, a low throbbing sensation that she chose to ignore as she delved back into the yellowing sheafs of paper, held together with dusty paper clips. She was no stranger to headaches, and besides, maybe they were just a symptom of normal-people nosebleeds.

Tongue set between her lips in concentration, El read through whatever she could understand of the documents compiled before her. Some of the words were too long or too technical even for her dictionary, resting faithfully at her side, but El remembered the trick Jim had taught her about using context to figure out the meaning of tough words and she managed fairly well.

At the very least, El was able to deduce that Annie had a birthday: February 13, 1960. And, even more interesting to her, was the fact that where the previous files had all contained a date of death, El saw that Annie’s did not. Instead, her file held a tiny slip of paper titled Record of Release and dated for June 10, 1978. El chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. Being released meant being set free. Had the bad men let Annie go? Why?

The pressure at the back of her head continued to build, an ache spreading out over her ears and settling in behind her eyes. El closed the file and took a long, deep breath. She felt compelled to talk to this girl, this Annie who had been set free to live amongst regular people.

But she was afraid. Her last venture into the past had led her to Kali; had driven her away from home and face-to-face with the human monster she had hoped never to see again, even if he’d only been a figment of her imagination, a vision put there by someone she’d trusted.

El swallowed, fearful of venturing to the In-Between and prying into places she wasn’t entirely sure she belonged, but an inexplicable force pushed her forward. Tentatively, El folded up the photograph of Annie she had happened upon the previous night and stood, approaching her dresser and opening the top drawer to rifle around for a familiar something she knew was there.

Once her fingers wrapped around the black and pink bandana, El felt a renewed sense of resolve wash through her chest. Her mouth a slash of determination, she hurried back to the living room and took a seat in front of the old television set. She made quick work of tying the bandana around her head, pushing her unruly hair out of the way. The bandana itself had been a gift from Lucas, given to her shortly after everything GST had happened last November, and it always made her feel as if her friends were close by; it made her feel brave.

El leaned forward and turned the dials on the television until the screen showed static, a steady hum pulsing in her ears. She pulled the cloth down over her eyes and sat quietly, focusing intently, allowing herself to push out the edges of her mind, expand herself until she was no longer contained in her body. All the while, her fingers brushed against the photograph in her lap.

It wasn’t long before El found herself in the dark place, a faint light emanating in the distance. Hesitating for a brief moment before carrying on, she allowed the light to guide her, its warm yellow glow leading her forward. As she moved, El drew in a deep breath, steadying her nerves, unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched by multiple sets of eyes.

She felt as though she walked for long, slow minutes before reaching the source of the light—a small and cluttered kitchen table, papers stacked high across its surface. El moved closer, beginning to discern details about the scene in front of her eyes. There was a tall mug with yellow daisies patterned across its white surface set upon the table, its contents still steaming. Beside it, a newspaper was open to a crossword puzzle, a black pen set down over its black-and-white squares. El strained her eyes to see the print at the top of the paper. _The Indianapolis Star. Saturday, April 13, 1985._

Her heart walloped in her chest. That was today’s paper and Indianapolis wasn’t all that far from Hawkins, not according to the maps Jim had showed her of the state. El licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry as she dragged her eyes away from the table. No one was seated there, so she looked further on. A few feet away a woman stood with her back to El, gazing out into the distance. Though she couldn’t be certain, El imagined the woman was looking out a window.

As El drew nearer, her heart began to beat rapidly once more as each of the woman’s features came into clearer focus. Her hair was longer than in the picture, but it was still shiny and straight, running straight to the middle of her back. Her nose was pointed and her eyes were sharp and bright blue, almost hawk-like in their vigilance.

_Annie._

As El watched, resisting the urge to reach out, Annie turned and moved back to the small table. El followed, looking on as she settled into her chair and returned to the crossword puzzle, tapping the pen on her cheek as she thought.

It was all so disarmingly normal. So unlike the open fire and and graffitied walls where she had found Kali.

El hesitated to speak, but took another step forward, her entire body freezing as Annie’s back stiffened, a thin hand flying to the back of her head, right at the base of her skull. El felt concern course through her veins and couldn’t hold her words behind her lips any longer.

“Annie?”

The woman gave no indication she had heard, as she shook her head and moved her hand to press the bridge of her nose, the same way Jim did when he had a headache. All at once, El remembered what she had read. She thought long and hard, focusing on moving her words from her mind to Annie’s.

_Annie? Can you hear me? My name is El. Eleven._

Nothing. No response. Annie picked up her mug and took a long sip of dark liquid that El assumed was coffee. El reached out and placed a shaking hand on Annie’s shoulder, unsurprised but still frustrated as she watched the woman in front of her dissolve into smoke and air.

Grunting, El tore the fabric from her eyes and tossed it aside, wiping at her nose with her sleeve. Maybe it was for the best that Annie had not heard her. She seemed to be living a normal life and maybe that was a sign El could do the same. No more powers, no more monsters, no more being a weirdo.

El blinked as her eyes readjusted to the light in the cabin, taking a moment to glance down at the watch fastened to her wrist. It was Mike’s—or it had once been Mike’s, but like the sweater she wore, it had been unofficially adopted into her wardrobe.

It was just before one and Mike would be calling soon. Excitement and eagerness bubbled up in El’s stomach at the thought of hearing his voice. As she flicked the television off and hurried back to her bedroom for her supercom, El decided she would worry about Annie later. For now, she just wanted to talk to Mike. Settling on her bed, cuddled in a thick-knit blanket, El turned her supercom to Channel 11. She didn’t quite notice that the dull throbbing at the back of her head had entirely disappeared.

Saturday mornings at the Harrington house were usually quiet. Steve’s dad was almost always away on business trips and his mother could generally be found at brunch or at the spa for a day of pampering with friends. Steve didn’t mind, really. He enjoyed having the house to himself, not having to listen to his father chatter away on the phone with his business associates or his secretary/latest fling while his mother flung pots and pans around in the kitchen, muttering to herself about how she deserved to be treated. It was almost as if they performed their unhappiness like a theatrical routine and Steve was left to be the unwitting audience member. No, that definitely wasn’t for him. He’d much rather the mellow silence of empty halls, the echoing beep of the toaster as it indicated his bagel was ready.

\- - - - - - - - - - -

Saturday mornings at the Henderson house were an entirely different story. Steve was certain that Dustin and his mother had enough energy and laughter to fill even the vaulted ceilings of the place his father only half-jokingly referred to as Harrington Manor. As it was, the Henderson house—though Steve always thought of it more as a home—was overflowing with warmth. And pancakes. Whenever he stopped by to help out with chores, Steve could expect to shovel down as many blueberry pancakes as Claudia Henderson stacked on his plate. And he would never dream of complaining; they were incredible.

On this particular Saturday, Steve had arrived at the Hendersons’ just after ten to work on a bout of spring cleaning in the cellar. It was a strange sensation, to pull open the large wooden doors and descend the darkened steps unarmed and without expecting a large reptilian creature to come flying at his face.

Steve had been down there for nearly half an hour with the radio going, sweeping up and humming along to Tears for Fears when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. Shocked, Steve whipped around, broom in his hand like a makeshift weapon, catching sight of Dustin with a toolbox in his hand and a huge smile on his face.

“Want to warn me when you sneak up on me like that?” Steve hissed, setting the broom down and crossing his arms over his chest, trying to preserve whatever shred of dignity he had left intact.

“Wouldn’t be sneaking if I warned you,” Dustin muttered, that damn shit-eating grin growing even bigger, “And I wasn’t sneaking. I was calling your name but you were too caught up putting the moves on that broom.”

Steve glared at him, running his fingers through his hair as he usually did when embarrassed. “What do you want, shithead?”

Dustin scowled and flipped him the bird before gesturing to a large and familiar hole in the wall at the far end of the cellar. “I thought we could repair that.”

“Can’t believe your mom still hasn’t seen it,” Steve chuckled, shaking his head, “How many times did you freeze your ass off to come down here for her this winter?”

“Too damn many,” Dustin replied, seeming to shudder at the memory. “You good to do this before we work on your Bio stuff?” Back in the house, Steve’s backpack sat on one of the kitchen chairs, his science homework tucked away and waiting.

Steve nodded, reaching out to take the tools from Dustin. The box was hefty as he brought them over to the crumbled wall, Steve was impressed Dustin had managed to carry them all the way from the shed. He set the box down on the floor and kneeled to assess the damage, Dustin hovering over his shoulder. Broken rocks and large sticks blown in over the winter cluttered the opening and Steve brushed them aside to reveal a dark and gaping interior, the smell musty and damp.

“Can’t believe that thing pretty much ate through the stone,” Steve sighed.

“Burrowed,” Dustin corrected, a hint of sadness in his voice, “Dart burrowed.”

“Sure thing,” Steve muttered, though his expression softened. He glanced down the tunnel, momentarily caught up in a memory of a night back in November when he had nearly died far too many times. And staring out at the darkness, Steve noticed something strange. Tilting his head to the side, eyes narrowed, he swore he could the Earth…breathing.

“You okay?” Dustin asked, noticing the way Steve had frozen. The older boy snapped out of his trance and nodded rapidly, settling onto his haunches.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he mumbled, trying to convince himself just as much as Dustin, “Let’s just get this thing patched up, okay?”

\- - - - - - - - - - 

From her spot behind the counter of the General Store, Joyce eyed the clock, absent-mindedly ringing through customer purchases. Her eyes felt heavy and she was craving a smoke to settle her nerves. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Joyce regretted not searching for another job. Everywhere there were memories of Bob—the potato chips he always raved about but she found too salty, the meagre stock of electrical supplies that he had always tried to explain to her, the VHS tapes he had rifled through every time he waited for her to take her break despite the fact that the titles never changed.

“Joyce?”

She glanced up at the familiar voice calling her name to see Donald, her boss, standing over her looking concerned.

“You don’t look so good,” he observed, “Have you had lunch?”

Joyce shook her head. “Dan hasn’t come back from his yet.”

“Well, just go on, okay?” Donald told her, coming around the counter, “I’ll cover here for a little while.”

Joyce smiled thankfully and ducked out from behind the cash. Her lunch was packed away in the breakroom—an apple and half a peanut butter sandwich—but she felt as though she needed air all of a sudden. She’d eat later.

Pushing through the large glass doors, Joyce’s eyes swept over the street bench on which she had spent so many lunch hours with Bob and she turned hurriedly in the opposite direction, trembling hands working on pulling a cigarette from the pack in the back pocket of her jeans and lighting it.

The police precinct was a fifteen minute walk, but Joyce set off in that direction, her feet more certain than her mind in bringing her there. She hadn’t gone more than a few blocks when a car pulled over at the curb, one quick and loud honk catching her attention.

“You forget your coat?” Jim leaned out the window, his lips smirking but his eyes full of concern.

Joyce stopped in her tracks and stared at him for a moment before she laughed softly, suddenly realizing how the light knit sweater she wore was not quite keeping out the cool air.

“Guess I did,” she muttered, “Mind giving me a lift?”

Hopper gestured toward the passenger side door and watched as Joyce sidled around and into the car. “Where to?”

“I don’t know,” Joyce sighed, staring out the window, “Somewhere else.”

\- - - - - - - - - - 

The sun was warm on the back of Will’s neck as he biked down the gravel path of the Hawkins cemetery, a stark difference to the cool breeze that ruffled his hair and turned his cheeks a rosy pink. The cemetery was a place he had been unfamiliar with up until a few months ago, avoiding it each time he biked past on his way home from school. Even now, he knew very little of the twisting paths and shaded lanes, save for the route he had memorized to a small and unassuming gravestone not too far from the cemetery’s northern gate.

Turning off the path, Will set his bike down. He felt uneasy walking it over the grass, as if it were disrespectful to the people buried there. Staring straight ahead, he made his way over to a comparatively new plot, fresh flowers resting over the grass, obscuring the text on the gravestone, though Will had committed it to memory long ago.

_Robert T. Newby_  
1946-1984  
Beloved Son and Uncle   
Forever in our Hearts 

Will hitched his thumbs into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying to gather adequate words. But that had never been his strength. Mike was always the best with words. When they came here together, as they sometimes did, Mike would always know what to say. Some word of thanks or a little story about AV Club.

But as he was alone, Will remained in thoughtful silence until he felt a familiar presence in the back of his mind, warm and gracious.

_Will?_

It was El’s voice, soft and distant, but unmistakably hers. He was struck by just how different it was compared to the voice Will remembered hearing last night; that of a small boy, but angry, harsh, and haunted; it was unlike any kid Will had ever heard before.

Still, he had company in his head now and pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, focusing instead on gathering his words and replying to El.

_Hey El._

There was a long moment of silence and Will wondered if maybe she had gone when he felt her again.

_Are you sad?_

Ah, so that was it. El didn’t usually contact him. Only when she could feel his emotions heightened; only when she knew there was something wrong. They hadn’t quite figured out how or why she was able to do it, but they hadn’t told anyone yet. Will had made El promise not to say anything, mostly because he didn’t want to be sent back to any doctors, no matter how nice they were.

_I’m visiting Bob._

_Oh. Sorry._

In all honesty, Will was a little surprised that El hadn’t come to see him after his dream last night, but maybe she had been sleeping. He wondered if she would understand his dream—she was good at understanding, just like Mike had said.

_It’s okay. Can you give me some time? I want to…I want to try to remember._

_Okay. Bye Will._

_Bye El._

\- - - - - - - - - -

Steve idled at the end of Old Cherry Street, fingers drumming in time to the Eurythmics, head bobbing along until he noticed a figure approaching his car and turned down the volume.

“What’s up dork?” Max chuckled as she slid into the passenger’s side. Steve raised an eyebrow at her, keeping silent as his hand snaked out and rumpled her hair, causing Max to yell as she shoved his hand away.

“Theatre, right dork?” Steve grinned while Max glared at him. With a nod, she began fiddling the radio stations; the kids all knew she was the only one allowed such a privilege.

As they pulled to the end of the street, Steve waiting to turn left, a familiar Camaro turned in opposite them, its driver slowing to stare into Steve’s car, eyes narrowed. Steve continued to stare straight ahead, ignoring Billy’s glare, noticing the way Max stared right back at him unblinking. After a tense moment, too long for Steve’s comfort, the light turned green and they were able to continue on, leaving Billy behind.

Max let out a long breath. “Asshole,” she muttered.

“You should be careful about staring like that,” Steve commented, “Dude’s crazy. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I’ll be okay,” Max assured him, “I swear.” After a moment’s pause, she looked at him earnestly, growing serious. “Thanks for doing this, Steve. Like really, thanks. Billy has been…quieter. He hasn’t told Neil about anything but I’d be so dead if anyone found out and Lucas…”

“No need to explain,” Steve shrugged, switching lanes, “My family is the same. It’s fuc— it’s messed up.”

“It’s fucked,” Max said emphatically, crossing her arms and leaning back in the seat.

The remainder of the drive to the movie theatre passed mostly in silence with a few digs about music taste and singing ability. Once parked, Max hopped eagerly out of the car.

“I told Lucas I’d meet him in the lobby,” she informed Steve, hugging him quickly.

“Have fun. Be good.” Steve murmured, “And don’t forget, if you need anything I’ll be waiting around out here, okay?”

“Thanks, Steve,” Max beamed at him before bounding off.

After a cigarette—or two—Steve grew bored and decided to head inside for some candy. He’d always had a sweet-tooth and was so caught up in debating with himself about whether he’d get Starbursts or Skittles or both that he didn’t realize who was standing on the other side of the cash register until it was too late.

“Hey Steve.”

Steve licked his lips. Of course he had chosen the goddamn candy counter that Jonathan Byers was working. Of course.

“Hey Byers,” Steve tried his best to smile, but god it hurt to try. “Can I get some, uh, let’s say some Skittles and a large Coke?”

“Yeah, cool, no problem.” Jonathan bustled around for a moment and Steve tried not to think too hard about leaping over the counter and clocking him in the face.

“So, uh, how are things?” Jonathan asked upon his return.

“Good,” Steve kept his response short, clipped, and hated how much he sounded like his father. He pulled his wallet out and looked at Jonathan expectantly. Jonathan shook his head.

“It’s on the house.”

“No thanks, Byers,” Steve hummed in his throat and placed ten dollars down on the counter, pocketing his candy, “I’ll see you later.”

\- - - - - - - - - - 

It was more difficult for Will to fall asleep that night. Even with the nightlight pulsing it the hallway, he lay in bed, counting the bumps on his ceiling for what felt like hours until he heard Jonathan come in from his shift at the theatre.

When sleep did eventually come, it brought with it the same dream of darkness, a hyper-awareness that this was real and unreal all at once. Will wandered, his feet wet again, towards a light emanating in the distance, his chest heavy and his throat tight.

Unexpectedly, he came upon a small figure, shorter and more slender than even him. It looked like a boy, with close cropped hair and square shoulders, but Will couldn’t be certain. He noticed, with some apprehension how the boy was dressed in a hospital gown. Swallowing, Will reached out to touch the boy’s shoulder. The figure turned and Will screamed in horror. Where the boy’s face should have been there was nothing but hollow pallidness, not a single feature.

Miles away, just as dawn broke, Eleven sat bolt upright in bed, her breathing shallow and blood gushing from her nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the overwhelming response to this fic! I am so happy that you've enjoyed it so far and I hope this chapter satisfies you! Please leave a note to let me know what you think. There is literally nothing better in the entire world.


	3. The Light on Randolph Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thanks to everyone who read and commented on the last chapter. Honestly, your words mean so much to me. This chapter took a little longer than I thought it would. I got really busy, which then made me really tired. But I do hope you'll enjoy this one! Thanks again and as always, I love hearing your thoughts and theories and favourite parts. 
> 
> Cheers,  
> Val!

_April 14, 1985  
Indianapolis, Indiana_

Eyelids heavy, body stiff and all too warm under her sheets, Annie woke slowly, blinking at the sunlight that was creeping into her bedroom from between the narrow gaps in her blinds. A low groan escaped her dry lips when she realized just how much her head ached; though ached hardly seemed to do justice to the feeling that was pulsing at the base of her skull.

She had woken once in the middle of the night for painkillers that had evidently not worked. Yet, despite her desire to crawl back under the covers, Annie knew that she’d be better off taking a few more. With some difficulty, she pulled herself out of bed, her pyjamas clinging to her sweat-dampened shoulders, and shuffled over to the window.

Drawing back the blinds, Annie winced slightly at the sudden light that met her eyes. For a moment, she fumbled with the latch before opening the window, the cool morning air of springtime hitting her face and bringing some relief with it. The sharp pangs clawing at the back of her head momentarily subsiding into a dull and fuzzy throb. That, at least, was more manageable.

If fresh air helped, Annie figured she couldn’t go wrong with coffee either. Her vision still slightly blurry at the corners, Annie dragged herself to the small kitchen at the far end of her apartment, quickly swallowing three of ibuprofen pills from the bottle she had left open on the counter sometime around 3 a.m.

Annie cursed under her breath when she opened the cupboard over the skin, realizing that she’d used up the last of the instant coffee yesterday over that crossword puzzle, the one still sitting almost, but not quite entirely solved on the kitchen table.

Annie ignored the sluggishness she felt in her muscles, instead moving to the front entryway of her apartment, shrugging on a lightweight brown coat, patting down her pockets to check for her keys and her wallet. Once she had pulled on a pair of old sneakers, she slipped out of her apartment and down the dim hallway, opting for the elevator over the stairs. Normally, Annie didn’t mind the climb down the six flights to street-level, especially it mean avoiding close contact with strangers in the elevator, but the elevator was quicker and she felt compelled to hurry outside.

The coffee shop underneath her apartment was small and generally crowded with young people at all hours of the day, but today it seemed especially stuffy. Annie felt irrationally irritated as she waited in line, uncomfortable underneath her jacket and flannel shirt, sweat forming in thick beads on the back of her neck.

To make matters worse, the man behind her in line was talking loudly to whoever he was with, rattling on and on about his plans for the day, going over directions to his dry cleaners and babbling about how they always made his suits look crisp. Annie pinched the bridge of her nose, ire bubbling up into her throat. On a good day, she had relatively thin patience, her nerves always high when out in public, but today she found herself unable to avoid the confrontation she’d normally run away from.

Annie whipped around, opening her mouth to kindly, or not so kindly, tell him to shut his mouth, but the words died abruptly in her throat.

The man behind her was alone. And he wasn’t speaking, his lips firmly shut and his eyes glancing at the vintage style menu overhead behind the counter. But Annie could hear his voice, clear as day, debating what to order —  _espresso? No, it’s too strong here. Maybe a cappuccino, double shot._

Annie’s heart skipped several beats before it sunk into her stomach, nausea curling there, making her forget about the pain in her head.  

Her powers hadn’t worked in years. She hadn’t let them.

Her bottom lip quivered, her eyes welling with tears. And all at once, her guards, built so carefully over years of isolation, fell apart. She could hear everything, a flood of voices bursting into her head, drowning out her own thoughts and making her entire body burn with fear and panic.

Without a word, avoiding eye contact with everyone, Annie ducked out of line and hurried out of the coffee shop, hardly able to breathe. Upstairs, finally back in the safety of her apartment, Annie locked her bedroom door and threw herself onto the sofa, crying.

* * *

_Hawkins, Indiana_

Inside the cabin it was still dark, the sun just beginning to peek out of the clouds. El stood over the bathroom sink, preoccupied with the blood rushing from her nose, forgetting all the details of the dream that had woken her, despite how vivid it had been.

El could hear Jim snoring heavily in the next room over as she gathered another thick wad of tissues and pressed it with force to her nose, their soft whiteness turning crimson. It was Sunday, which meant Jim would be sleeping in, likely until she woke him just after ten.

Several tissues and a bit of soap and water later, El was satisfied that her nose no longer needed attention and focused instead on the rumbling in her stomach. Moving into the kitchen, she entertained the thought of frying some bacon—Jim’s favourite breakfast food—as an extra thank you for her incredible birthday party at the start of the weekend. But it was still too early for that, so she’d settle on Eggos for now and make a real breakfast once the sun had fully risen.

Waiting for the toaster, El opened the fridge and shuffled around for the maple syrup, her fingers cold as she pushed past the ketchup and mustard and mayonnaise. As she grabbed the syrup from the back corner, El couldn’t help but to smile to herself—Jim still being asleep meant that she could put as much on her waffles as she wanted.

El straightened up and pressed the fridge shut with her knee, her shoulders stiffening, smile disappearing into a tense expression when she heard rustling outside. Clutching the syrup tight against her chest, El waited, wondering if the trip wire would be triggered, wondering if she’d hear the warning alarm Jim had told her about when she first moved in.

Ten seconds passed. Nothing.

El let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding in and turned back to the toaster to see her waffles waiting there, ready and steaming. Licking her lips, El realized she didn’t feel all that hungry anymore. Nevertheless, she carefully pulled the waffles onto a paper plate and began to drizzle them with syrup.

It was then that she heard the voice, like a whisper in the back of her mind, causing goosebumps to form up the length of her arms. It would have been impossible for her to describe the sound—El thought it almost sounded like the ocean; or what Mike had said the ocean sounded like when he brought that giant pink seashell over to show her. The whispers were like words but not quite formed, as though she might have been able to hear what was being said if she were closer.

And then one word amidst the sea of babbling noises.

_Eleven._

El stiffened again, eyes wide. The voice that had spoken her name was unfamiliar. It was soft and youthful, almost boyish if not for the harsh firmness. El’s hands balled into fists, ready to fight.

A distinct tapping caused her to whip around, the noise emanating from the front window. El’s throat was suddenly very dry as she crept toward the entrance of the cabin, her teeth set together. Steeling herself, El quickly drew back the front blinds, almost laughing as relief swept through her chest when she saw a familiar smiling face in the window.

“Mike,” she grinned, watching as he waved at her eagerly and gestured toward the door. El nodded, understanding, and, with a quick flick of her wrist, unlatched the locks so that Mike could enter.

“You were supposed to come for lunch,” El whispered, hurrying to his side.

Mike’s face lit up into a huge grin as he kicked off his shoes. “I know,” he whispered back, pulling her into a hug, “I just couldn’t wait to see you.”

El felt her cheeks grow warm and rested her head against Mike’s chest, his chin coming down on top of her head. She couldn’t quite describe just how much she loved having Mike near her, but after far too many days apart, she was happy to see him—to really, truly be near him—as often as she could.

“You looked worried,” Mike muttered, pulling away for a moment and resting his hands on her shoulders. “When you opened the blinds. Like you saw a ghost or something.”

El was silent for a moment, thinking back to the voice she could have sworn she heard, not anywhere in the cabin, but inside her head. Vaguely, she remembered what Jim had told her about PTSD when she was having nightmares back in the winter, screaming out in the middle of the night.

“I’m okay,” El assured him, “I’m happy you’re here.”

Mike smiled again, pressing his forehead to hers. “I think I smell Eggos…”

* * *

“I don’t know, it was just weird,” Jonathan muttered, setting down his orange juice. The change from the ten dollar bill that Steve had left at the candy counter the night before sat heavily in his wallet and Jonathan wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. His first instinct was to be offended, but Steve had seemed so distracted that he wasn’t entirely sure that was a fair judgement. Nancy didn’t seem to think so, insisting that Jonathan was thinking too much about it.

Across the table, she smirked into her napkin at his comment. “Are you really calling people weird now?”

Jonathan couldn’t help but to grin. He opened his mouth to retort, but caught sight of the troubled expression that flitted across Nancy’s face as her smirk faded.

“Nance?” He watched as she shifted bits of pancake around on her plate, waiting for her to respond.

“I should call him,” Nancy mused aloud, “It’s been a while now.”

And it had been. Despite the fact that Nancy saw Steve frequently—he was, after all, unavoidable at school and popped in from time to time to pick up any one of her brother’s friends—they had barely spoken since their break-up. Not that it was much of a break-up.

There were nights when Nancy couldn’t sleep, staring up at her ceiling and wondering if she had made the right choice. She was happy with Jonathan—and she knew that part of her decision felt right. But if she could go back, do it all over again, she would.

Maybe it was time to fix things. Maybe she didn’t love Steve, but she cared about him. A lot.

“Yeah,” Jonathan nodded absently, “That sounds good.”

* * *

Things were bad today, worse than usual. Neil and Billy were going at it, they had been for hours; something about Billy not coming home the night before. In her bedroom, Max tried to ignore their yelling. She wished she could put headphones on and drown them out, but that wasn’t a safe option—not when their anger could turn on her with just a moment’s notice.

Instead, she sat on her bed, tapping a nervous rhythm out onto her skateboard, draped over her lap. Somewhere downstairs, a plate smashed. Max cringed, hoping it wasn’t one from her mother’s favourite collection.

Chewing her bottom lip, Max stared at the phone on her bedside table, weighing her options. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t stop herself from picking the phone up from the receiver and dialling the number she had committed to memory long ago. In the back of her mind, Max knew this would mean hell to pay, sooner or later, but she was desperate to hear his voice.

Three rings, then four. Then his familiar gruff tone, slightly softened, the way it always was when they spoke.

“Max? Is that you?”

All the tears Max had been holding back suddenly sprang from her eyes and she did her best to wipe them away with her sleeve.

“Dad,” she breathed, “Hi.” It was a woefully inadequate thing to say, but she was trying to steady herself and they were the only words she could imagine getting out.

“What’s wrong Max?” Her father, Ben, sounded concerned, an angry quiver in his voice.

“I just—” Max faltered. What would telling him achieve? What could he, out in California, possibly do?

“Max? Zoomer, you there?”

“Yeah,” Max whispered, “I’m here. I miss you and—”

Max paused, hearing footsteps thundering up the stairs, Neil’s words chasing Billy. Max realized her hands were trembling as they clutched the phone close to her ear. She wished her mom was home, but even more than that she wished she was back in California.

“Is he drunk again, Max?” She could hear the pain in her father’s voice, but his words were drowned out by the conversation at the end of the hallway.

“Maybe get off my back and pay attention to the kind of people Maxine is hanging out with,” she heard Billy spit in Neil’s direction.

The brief silence that followed was deafening, but it was followed by a second set of footsteps rushing up the stairs and a harsh slap. Max’s eyes grew wide.

“Dad,” she whispered hurriedly, “I have to go. I’ll be safe, I promise. Love you.”

She slammed the phone down on the receiver just in time to hear Neil demand more from Billy. “What are you talking about, boy?” Silence. “Hmm?” More silence. Max prayed that maybe Billy wouldn’t rat her out. Maybe—  
  
“I SAID ANSWER ME, BOY!” This violent shout was accompanied by another, harder slap.

“Ask her yourself,” Billy hissed.

Max clambered to her feet.  _Shit, shit, shit._  She needed to leave. Now.

Tucking her skateboard up and under her arm, Max rushed to the window, not waiting to see if Neil had decided to come question her or not. Outside she ran for the road, not looking back. Wishing she would never, ever have to look back.

She wasn’t sure where to go, so Max let her feet lead her where they would and in half an hour she found herself on Maple Street. Not outside Mike’s house, as she usually was when visiting this neighbourhood, but on Lucas’s front porch, timidly knocking on the door.

Max silently thanked her lucky stars that it was Lucas who answered.

“Max? What are you d—” Lucas didn’t need to finish asking his question when he noticed how puffy Max’s eyes were. “Hey, come in,” he urged her gently, stepping out of the doorway. “We’re just about to have lunch and I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind setting an extra place. And uh—the bathroom is the third door on the left if you uh, if you want to—” His voice trailed off, arm gesturing lamely in the direction he had just indicated.

“Thanks, Stalker,” Max gave him a half-smile and a quick hug. Max felt as though she could have stood there forever, Lucas’s arms draped loosely around her shoulders, but the sound a long and over-emphasized  _OooOOooh_  drew them apart.

Lucas grimaced when he saw his younger sister standing at the end of the short entrance hall, peeking around the corner at them.

“Is that your girlfriend, Lukey?”

If the floor had opened up right then and thrown him into the Upside Down, Lucas would have preferred it to looking up and seeing Max’s expectant grin.

* * *

At some point between eating Eggos while watching  _The NeverEnding Story_  and the car race in  _Grease_ , Hopper had emerged from his bedroom, his surprised expression quickly giving way to amused reproach when he saw Mike and El together on the sofa, Mike’s arm wrapped around El, who was dozing on his shoulder.

“Wheeler,” he greeted Mike with a gruff nod, taking more than a little satisfaction from the immediate red flush in Mike’s cheeks.

“H-hey Chief,” Mike managed to stammer out a reply. “El was going to make breakfast, but she fell asleep and I—”

“Was supposed to be here for lunch,” Hopper cut him off, letting Mike squirm for a long moment as he tried to piece together a response. “It’s fine, Wheeler,” he finally relented, “I’m jumping in the shower. We’ll make breakfast when I’m out, okay?”

“Yessir,” Mike replied immediately. Hopper shook his head and retreated into the bedroom. Those kids—it both worried him and warmed him to see how much they cared for one another.

* * *

When El’s eyes fluttered open, Mike wasn’t there. There was nothing familiar in sight—or at least nothing comforting. The dark place, where El found herself now, was in fact far too familiar.

El felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, uncertain as to how she had ended up here, in the place she and Mike had taken to calling The In-Between. Was she dreaming? It certainly felt real enough, despite the haze that seemed to cling to darkness.  

_Eleven._

It was the same voice echoing in her head, the one she had heard that morning while in the kitchen, but it was clearer this time. Closer. El turned and saw a young boy, perhaps her age, standing not far off. He wore a familiar gown that made El’s breath catch in her throat.

The boy took a step toward her. “Hello.”  Another step and he was suddenly at her side. El tried to back away, but her feet remained rooted to the spot. The boy tentatively reached out and touched her hand and El felt a jolt, like that time she had accidentally touched the burner on the stove.

Her eyes shot open once more, Mike’s worried face looming over her.

* * *

Mike had little interest in  _Grease_ , having watched it at least a hundred times on El’s request. And even if he hadn’t, he found it much more interesting to focus on El, daydreaming about all the activities he hoped to be able to do together during the coming summer. But as he watched her absently, the sound of the shower emanating from the bathroom, Mike noticed her begin to stir, her face growing troubled. Mike bit his lip and gently tried to shake her awake.

“El?”

Her brow furrowed deeper but she didn’t wake. Mike felt a wave of panic wash over him, clutching at his stomach until it turned to ice. El was a light sleeper; he’d learned as much in the last few months. His soft prodding should have been enough to wake her.

Mike ventured to shake her with slightly more force, his voice cracking when he said her name again, his palms growing sweaty.

And then her eyes flashed open, wide and frightened, her breathing uneven, as if she had no idea where she was.

“El, it’s me! It’s Mike. You’re okay!” He grabbed her hand, rubbing it gently.

“Mike, I—“ she began, but stopped at the familiar, though heavier than usual, drip over her lip. El’s fingertips moved to her face and Mike read the panic in her eyes.

* * *

Steve, despite his better judgements, was in his car and driving the familiar route to the Wheelers. It was a path he drove every pretty much Saturday, bringing Max or Dustin over to Mike’s place, but it had been a long time since he’d gone there to see Nancy.

She had called him earlier that day, asking if he had some time that evening to talk. As much as he had wanted to say no, that had never been his strength when it came to Nancy Wheeler. He hoped, at the very least, that she would do most of the talking. Steve wasn’t sure what he could possibly say to her.

Nancy was waiting for him on the porch, a light coat draped over her shoulders. When he pulled into the driveway she waved uncertainly before coming to meet him, slipping gracefully into the passenger’s seat, her hair ever so slightly windswept.

“Hey,” she smiled.

Steve nodded in her direction, “Hey.”

He was being closed off, he knew that, and he berated himself for it, but a larger, more stubborn part of him refused to budge.

“Did you want to get a burger or something?” Steve asked, staring pointedly at the steering wheel.

“I ate dinner,” Nancy replied gently, “But if you’re hungry…”

“I’m not,” Steve assured her, backing out into the street.

“We could get a coffee?” Nancy suggested.

For a long moment, Steve didn’t respond, fiddling with the radio dials. Then it struck him—what to say, where to go. “I have a better idea,” Steve muttered.

The drive was silent, almost unbearably so, and Steve ignored the look Nancy shot him when he turned on to Randolph Road.

“Steve—”

She didn’t continue, her words cut off by the large foreboding Lab rising up to loom over them in the darkness.

Steve stopped several feet from the gate and put the car in park. When she realized he hadn’t turned it off, Nancy couldn’t help herself from becoming frustrated. She tried to swallow those feelings; she had called him to apologize.

“Steve, I never really said—“

“You did a good thing,” Steve said quietly, interrupting her. “Shutting this place down, after all the stuff they did, by accident or not. It was a good thing, Nance.”

Nancy sighed. Of course he was going to take the high road, make this harder than it had to be. “Still,” she continued, “I should have…I don’t know, I guess I should have t—”

“Nance.”

“No, Steve, just please li—”

“Nancy.” There was something odd in his voice that made Nancy look up from her hands, folded nervously in her lap.

“Is that—?” Nancy felt her throat grow dry, something like rage bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

“What the hell is going on?” Steve muttered.

They both stared in disbelief at the dim and flickering lights shining out of the first floor windows and a Lab that was, for all intents and purposes, abandoned.


	4. The Earthquake

_April 15, 1985_   
_Hawkins, Indiana_

“Mr. Wheeler? Are you listening?”

Mike felt a sharp, unexpected poke between his ribs and startled, peeling his eyes away from the clock that hung over the blackboard, its hands crawling impossibly slow from one minute to the next. He was suddenly painfully aware of all twenty-odd sets of eyes in the room focused on him. Next to him, Dustin glared with exasperation, mouthing the word  _nine_  as subtly as he could—which was, in fact, not very subtle. Mike narrowed his eyes in confusion, his lips pursed.

“Mr. Wheeler?”

Sheepishly, Mike glanced up at his math teacher, Ms. Lennox, watching him expectantly behind her thick-rimmed glasses. So that’s what this was about. Mike licked his lips and hurriedly looked back down to his notebook, filled with messy numbers and doodles of a certain girl’s name across the margins. Silently, he thanked his lucky stars that he already had the page opened to last night’s homework.

“It’s thirty-six,” Mike answered, voice quiet but confident, “The answer to number nine is thirty-six.”

Ms. Lennox looked slightly annoyed, shooting the rest of the class a quick and deadpan look as they began to snicker. “That’s correct, Michael,” she sighed, half-heartedly, “But I think what Mr. Henderson was trying to tell you was that the answer to number  _fifteen_  is nine.”

Mike and Dustin flushed simultaneously as Ms. Lennox, heels clicking against the linoleum floor, returned to other side of the room to look for someone to answer the next question. Dustin nudged Mike in the ribs again, this time with more irritated force, shaking his head in a resigned way. Mike shot him an apologetic shrug, both of them thankful Ms. Lennox wasn’t the kind of teacher who gave detention for little things like being distracted.

Because Mike was, to say the very least, distracted. He hadn’t been able to focus on anything during first or second period, and things were only getting worse as the day progressed, his nerves growing more and more acidic in his stomach. El had looked so tired when he left her yesterday, her eyes weary and her face pale. And when he had called to ask about her after dinner, Hopper said she was sleeping. He said the same thing when Mike called again at seven and a third time at nine-thirty.

It was difficult to forget the sight of El’s face when she had woken up in his lap, the way the blood had been practically gushing from her nose and the fear in her eyes that she insisted was the result of just another nightmare.

But Mike knew El’s nightmares; he had spent months talking her to sleep on the phone, waking to the buzzing of his supercom when she needed to talk in the middle of the night. More than once she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder, babbling and whimpering until she woke up, her terror softened when she looked at him with sleepy eyes.

Yesterday something had felt different and it made Mike worry. Sighing, he returned to his vigilant staring at the clock, counting down the seconds until he could leave school and bike as fast as his legs would carry him over to the cabin.

* * *

Jim stared at the phone on his desk, willing it to ring. Though its silence was often, almost always, something he coveted, it was the last thing he wanted at that moment.

It had been nearly impossible for him to leave El at home that morning and he had taken his time with breakfast dishes, insisting he needed a third cup of coffee before he was ready to leave. El, for her part, assured him that she was feeling better. And a large part of Jim wanted to believe her. There hadn’t been another incident since the one with Mike and El had even woken up just after ten asking if they could watch a hockey game, a request Jim gave into with little hesitation.

Still, El was his little girl now—officially, even though he’d thought of her as such for far longer than the time he’d possessed her forged birth certificate. So, when he had arrived at the office that morning, late as usual but with good reason; after Flo had pressed an orange and yet another cup of coffee into his hands, no longer commenting on his time of arrival since El came around, Jim had settled in behind his desk and dialled a number he’d long ago memorized, relieved when Doc Owens picked up after three rings. It was a number that, as a rule, he called only once a month. Doc Owens—Sam, as Jim now called him—would choose the time. Jim would choose the place. And there they’d meet, as a rule just once a month, to share information.

Jim’s call that morning had broken their rule, but he didn’t care.

_“Listen Pops, it’s probably just some irritant in the cabin. Allergies. Is she sneezing? Has your roof blown off lately?” There was, as always, a light edge to his voice, as if everything was always a situation to be diffused by humour._

_“I’m serious, Sam, it’s been every few hours and she’s not looking so great.”_

_“Okay, let me clear up my schedule and I’ll call you in a bit. Tell you when and you can tell me where.”_

That was the phone call Jim was so impatiently waiting for, though his waiting was interrupted by a flurry of sound in the hallway just outside his office. Flo opened the door just enough to pop her head in, looking extremely flustered as she did so. “There are so—”

“Hop!” Over Flo’s shoulder Jim just barely caught sight of three familiar teenaged faces, all of them looking deeply concerned and eager. Jim licked his lips and nodded once at Flo.

“It’s okay, Flo, let the hooligans in.”

Flo shrugged, seemingly glad to be rid of the burden of holding back three teenagers entirely bent on entry into the office, and ducked out of the way, shaking her head as the they shouldered into Jim’s office, none of them bothering to sit but all leaning over his desk intensely.

Jim pulled a pack of cigarettes from his top drawer, drawing one out and pressing it between his lips before they were even fully in the room. Something on their faces indicated that he was going to need one. “Shouldn’t you kids be at school?” he asked, shuffling some papers on his desk, searching for the lighter he could have sworn was there earlier.

“We’re on lunch,” Steve countered, “And this is way more important.”

Jim opened his mouth to respond, to question them further, but Jonathan, with fire in his eyes, beat him to it. “There were lights on in the Lab last night!”

Whatever Jim had been expecting, it was not this. His jaw slackened, the cigarette perched there on his lips nearly falling over onto the floor.  _God damn, where was that lighter?_ Gathering himself, Jim settled further into his chair, looking up sternly at the kids in front of him, giving up on his cigarette entirely.

“You saw this?” Jim asked, enunciating every word slowly, wanting to be certain. “With your own eyes?” At the question, Jonathan faltered, hitching his thumbs into his pockets but Steve and Nancy nodded eagerly.

“It was the two of us,” Steve said, gesturing from himself to Nancy, “But we’re sure.”

Jim frowned, unsure that he’d ever heard the Harrington boy so serious and in earnest. The thought of what lights on at Hawkins Lab meant made his stomach turn and he made a mental note to grill Owens about it later. What was the man hiding from him?

“What’s going on?” Nancy glared at him, an edge of accusation in her voice that hardened Jim’s expression. He didn’t exactly blame Nancy for her skepticism of him, but that didn’t mean he had to like the way she was looking at him as if he were the Lab.

Jim shot her a withering, annoyed look. “How the hell am I supposed to know that?”

Nancy didn’t relent. “You knew more than you let on all last year,” she hissed, venom in her words.

“Hey,” Steve spoke up softly, working to diffuse the situation, “Those bastards are sneaky. We’re going to figure this out.” For a moment, he reached out to gently touch Nancy’s shoulder but pulled his hand back jerkingly, as if remembering that wasn’t his job anymore.

“I have a call with Sam Owens later,” Jim said, “I’ll ask what’s going on.”

“That’s not enough,” Jonathan said quietly, chewing his bottom lip as he shuffled ever so slightly closer to Nancy’s other side.

“What would y—” Jim began, but Steve cut him off with enthusiasm. Jim saw that, clearly, they had discussed this before coming to see him.

“We’ll do recon,” Steve offered. Jim raised an eyebrow, sceptical. “What? I’m serious. It’ll be…cool.”

Jim shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “That’s not safe.”

“Someone has to!” Nancy exclaimed immediately, her voice fiery. “Otherwise everything we did will be for nothing!”

Jim opened his mouth to respond, but before the words could leave his lips, the ground underneath them shifted, the lights flickering overhead.

* * *

Lucas and Max had just joined the remainder of the party at their usual table in the cafeteria, close to the back-left corner, away from all the chattering of the popular kids. Their plates piled high with macaroni and cheese, an apple on each of their trays, they groaned in united defeat as they sat down on the bench opposite Mike and Will.

“Out of chocolate pudding,” Lucas huffed. “Can you believe Max has only had it twice since she’s been here?”

“Total bullshit,” Dustin claimed from his spot beside Lucas, “I say we plan another raid. Maybe we can even get El to help and—”

Dustin’s plan was cut short by a loud rumbling that seemed to emanate from the earth itself. For a moment, everything was still. Then, the shaking started, a deep and tumultuous shifting beneath them that lasted for just a breath. As quickly as it happened, it was over, leaving the cafeteria in stunned silence.  

“What the hell was that?” Lucas, with his hand wrapped firmly around Max’s asked. Slowly, the room buzzed to life with chatter over the short-lived shaking beneath them. Teachers moved across the cafeteria quickly, eager to reach each other and figure out a plan.

“Felt like an earthquake,” Max said, her voice calm, though her knuckles her white where her free hand clasped the edge of the table. “We got them all the time in California. One time—”

“An earthquake?” Dustin echoed, expression awed, “Cool!”

“Not cool,” Lucas rolled his eyes, nudging Dustin with his elbow, “Is everyone okay?”

Glances were exchanged around the table, nods all around, except for Will who was looking down at the scratched surface of the wooden table, clearly focused on something no one else could see.

“Will?” Mike was the first to voice his concern, his hand coming out to rest on Will’s arm.

Will held up his hand without looking at his friends, his brow furrowed in concentration. He could feel El pressing at the edges of his mind; he could sense the worry she felt, spreading to his own stomach as well.

_Will?_

_I’m okay El._  Will tried his best to steady his nerves, but it was difficult when not all those nerves really felt like they belonged to him.

_You felt scared._

_I was. There was an earthquake._

A beat of silent emptiness and then… _Is Mike okay?_

At this question, Will quickly glanced over at Mike, his hand still resting there on his arm.

“What are you—?” Mike began, his expression concerned with flickers of confusion and hurt shooting across his face. Will found himself inexplicably compelled to tell the truth. Maybe it was time, anyway. Keeping secrets had gotten them into trouble last year and his dreams had been troubling in the last couple of days.

“It’s El,” Will said quickly, “She’s…” his voice trailed off and he looked at Mike with uncertainty, guilt behind his eyes.

“She’s what?” Mike pressed him, eager, leaning in.

Will frowned and looked away, not wanting to see the disappointment on Mike’s face. “She’s checking on us. We’re—talking.”

An astonished silence followed his words, all his friends staring at him with disbelief. It was Mike who spoke first, incredulous. “You’re talking to El? How?” Mike’s eyes were wide, almost angry.

_Will? Will?_

But Will had no time to respond to his friends; no time to ask Mike for forgiveness. He could feel El tugging at the corners of his mind, asking for attention. He could feel her desperation, suddenly more acute, as if something was very, very wrong. Without warning, he closed his eyes, allowing her voice to fill his head, trying to empty out thoughts of his friends and focus in on El.

_Do you see him?_

Will was confused by the question, about to ask her for clarification when suddenly he understood. He saw—and it made his heart skip a beat.

_Yes._

It was the same boy he had dreamed about standing off in the distance as if watching. Will had been hopeful that this boy was just a dream, but if El could see him too maybe it was something more.

_I have to go._

El’s last thought to him was abrupt, hurried. And then she was gone. Will’s feelings, the uncomfortable and fearful twisting in his stomach, were suddenly all his own.

“I think there’s something wrong with El,” Will whispered, “I think she’s sick.”

“What do you mean?” Lucas asked, “Will, what’s going on?” He was on the edge of his seat, practically standing.

“Her nosebleeds,” Mike breathed, realization dawning on him. These things, Will and El talking to each other in their minds and El’s sudden nosebleeds, they had to be connected, right? “I’m going to see her!” Mike was up from the table in an instant, stuffing the uneaten half of his tuna sandwich into his backpack and zipping it up hurriedly.

“I’m coming with you,” Max announced, standing as well. Mike shook his head and opened his mouth to protest but Max wouldn’t take no for an answer. El was her first and only female friend and she refused to let anything bad happen to her.

“You guys cover for us next period,” Max instructed the other boys as she slipped her uneaten apple into her bag, “Tell the teacher we ate some bad chocolate pudding or something.”

* * *

“So see you tonight for meatloaf?” Dustin looked over at Steve, his fingers hovering over the handle of the car door. Steve had, as usual these days, given him a ride home from school. What was unusual, however, was how distracted they had both been throughout the drive, neither even bothering to change the radio station when a song they both hated came on.

Dustin was worried about El, having not heard from Mike or Max for the entire afternoon. Steve was looking ahead to that evening, but not to the usual Monday night dinners he had at the Hendersons.

“Not this week,” Steve shook his head, keeping his eyes on the steering wheel.

Dustin tilted his head to the side, his curiosity piqued. He looked at Steve expectantly. “Other plans?”

“Nothing,” Steve tried his best to sound convincing but the look on Dustin’s face told him the younger boy was absolutely not buying it. .

“That means something,” Dustin said matter-of-fairly, “You can pick me up at eight.”

“No way, dude,” Steve was firm. He still had no idea what was going on at the Lab and there was no way in hell he was involving Dustin in something so dangerous—and admittedly a little reckless.

“So you  _are_  doing something!” Dustin exclaimed triumphantly, “Does it have anything to do with that earthquake today?”

Steve looked thoughtful for a moment, lips pursed and brow furrowed as a thought dawned on him. Abruptly, he put his car in park and jerked the keys from the ignition. “I want to check something out,” he mumbled, “Grab the key to the cellar. And a hammer.”

Dustin shot him a confused look as they both exited the car, but played along, grabbing the items Steve had requested from the shed and meeting him by the storm cellar door.

Once it was unlocked, Dustin watching with interest, Steve started down the stairs, tentatively, hammer in hand. Without a word he walked over to the hole in the wall he had covered that past weekend, smashing at the planks that blocked it.

“Steve, what the shit? What are you doing!”

Steve ignored Dustin’s inquiry, continuing to hammer at the wood until he could peel it away with his hands, wincing as a small splinter embedded itself into his fingertip. Dustin stood by and watched somewhere between concern and interest.

When the last of the wood had fallen away, Steve sat back on his haunches, surveying the hole, looking for some sign of the movement he had noticed over the weekend. There was nothing. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“I hope you’re going to fix that,” Dustin said lightly.

“You fix it and I’ll pick you up at eight,” Steve bargained, setting the hammer into Dustin’s hands. “ _Just_ you. And bring binoculars.”

Maybe it was dangerous, but Steve figured if he didn’t give in, the entire group of kids would somehow end up in the back of his car. And the was way more responsibility than he wanted that night.

* * *

Mike has just barely finished knocking on the cabin door when it swung open and El flew into his arms, hugging him tightly, her fingers gripping his shoulders with fervour.

“You’re okay,” she breathed as Mike hugged her back.

“I’m fine,” Mike nodded, pulling away and surveying her with concern. “But that doesn’t matter. Are you okay?”

“Will said you might be sick,” Max chimed in from the bottom step of the porch, looking on, slightly uncomfortable.

“I—“ El faltered. Was she sick? She certainly felt that way, but part of her knew it was something else. If Will could see the boy from her dreams too, did that mean he was real?

“Can we come in?” Max interrupted her thoughts, “It’s cold out here.” She was still growing used to the Indiana weather and while it had warmed in the last month, there were still perpetually goosebumps rising on her arms.

El nodded slowly, moving out of the doorway and leading her friends back into the living room of the cabin. On the sofa, they took a seat on either side of her and for a moment, El felt safe, revelling in the nearness of her friends.

“I’ve been having bad dreams,” she whispered quietly, toying with the camo bandana wrapped around her wrist. Before Mike and Max had shown up unexpectedly, El had been preparing a visit to the dark place, hoping to find answers. “About a boy.”

“A boy?” Max echoed, “What kind of boy?”

“Bad,” El replied, her throat dry, “I think he is bad.”

“Does it have anything to do with your nosebleeds?” Mike asked, tucking a strand of El’s hair behind her ear as gently as he could manage. She shrugged, unsure.

“Is there anyone you can ask?” Max questioned, her hand coming to rest on El’s knee in comfort. “What about that Doctor guy? Owens?”

El shook her head, staring down at her knees, her palms growing clammy. Mike frowned, reaching for El’s hand and squeezing it reassuringly. He knew how she lapsed into silence when she grew nervous, but he could read her well enough.

“If her powers are acting up,” he told Max, “No, we can’t say anything. We’re not letting them take her back.” He paused, focusing his attention back on El. “We’re not going to let them get you back, El. I promise.”  

“It’s just weird,” Max sighed, trying to be gentle, her expression troubled.

“Weird,” El agreed, “I can…” she paused, hesitant, looking at Mike wearily. She knew he wouldn’t be happy with the plan she had come with. “I can ask Kali.”

“No way!” Mike jumped to his feet instantly. He’d heard enough about El’s so-called sister to know that was not okay. “She’s…crazy!”

“Kali?” Max asked, “Who’s Kali?”

“Mike,” El stared up at him with wide eyes, “It’s okay. I’ll be careful.”

Despite his continued protests, El managed to convince Mike that her plan was the only one they had and, after several hugs, he relented. Together with Max, he watched anxiously as El took a seat in front of the static-played television set, sliding the bandana from her small wrist and tying it over her eyes.

“Is there anything we can do?” Mike asked but El, eyes blocked, reached out for his knee, squeezing it gently.

“No,” she whispered, “Just quiet.”

They obeyed, seated next to each other on the couch while El went silent, her hands splayed across her lap. It felt as though forever had passed before El’s fingers began to twitch, tapping nervously against her denim-clad knees. Concerned, Mike made a move forward, but Max held out her arm to stop him, shooting him a glare.

Another long moment passed before El’s lips turned down at the corners. And then she was screaming. “Go away!” The words left her mouth at a shrill, horrifying volume and Mike was on her in an instant, shaking her and pulling her blindfold off while she continued to thrash and scream.

“El!” Mike called her name desperately as her body calmed, the screams dying in her throat. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling gently but steadily. Mike’s eyes filled with tears as he pulled her close, still shaking her. “El? El? Wake up.”

Receiving no response, he felt the air leave his lungs. “Max,” he cried, “Call Hopper. Now.”

“What’s wrong with—”

“NOW!” Mike yelled, hot tears falling down his cheeks as he held El’s listless body in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for your incredible feedback and enthusiasm. I love hearing what you think. Sorry this took so long. I had such a hard time with some of the scenes in this chapter and I ended up taking one out because I just needed more time to work on it. Anyways, please let me know your thoughts. I appreciate you reading this!


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